


DSMP Bootcamp: Week One

by robinlikeitshot



Series: DSMP BBBootcamp Fills [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Crack, Death, Dream being not a good person, Gen, Mentions of Blood, Philza and Wilbur angst lol, fun adventures in the nether, poor tommy :), reluctant mentor technoblade because yes, so double angst lol, takes place in the bit where tommys staying with techno, ~capitalism~
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-24 02:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30064959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinlikeitshot/pseuds/robinlikeitshot
Summary: Prompt fills for the DSMP Big Bang! Week 1 Prompts: Bread, Hugging, Excitement.* * *“Okay fine, so you don't like governments, I get that but—fuckin’ hell!”* * *Phil hugs his son.* * *He's so tired, so hungry. So close.
Series: DSMP BBBootcamp Fills [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2211879
Kudos: 13
Collections: DSMP Big Bang Bootcamp





	1. Bread

**Author's Note:**

> im still getting the hang of some of this characterization so bear with me pls lol, hope yall like this dumb crack shot anyway xd

“Okay fine, so you don't like governments, I get that but—fuckin’ hell!”

Techno side-steps the kid from where he was attempting to untangle his shirt from the low-hanging branch he’d walked into, ignoring the curses behind him as he creeps along the path barely indented in the wall of red vines.

The bastion on the other end of the ravine was crawling with piglins, not too much of a problem for Technoblade, but if he ends up having to make a detour to avoid one of the bothersome traps these places always seemed to spawn—

Tommy bumping into his back makes him grit his teeth, forcing his hand to drop from the handle of his axe. In lieu of an apology, the boy just rubs at the bruise forming at the top of his forehead and mutters, “Could’ve at least fuckin waited for me, bitch,’ as he peers out at the bastion from under Techno’s arm with squinted eyes.

Techno suppresses the urge to roll his own. “Stay in front of me, and do what I tell you, understood?” Phil would lecture him for days if he accidentally got the kid murdered in his first week of staying with Techno (and maybe the hopeful look on the kid’s face when Techno’d asked him if he wanted to join him in scouting out netherite in the bastion he’d seen in his last trip to the nether had warmed him a little more than he wanted to admit).

“I’ll do what I want, dickhead,” Tommy grouses, shoving past him to start climbing down the jagged cliff to the narrow bridge. Allowing himself a single sigh, he pulls out his bow to start covering the kid’s six.

He has to take down two ghasts before he deems Tommy safely situated on the bridge, the lava still dangerously close to the bottom and practically licking up the sides of the structure though. So he makes the executive decision to jump down from the ledge onto the bridge, ignoring the mere two hearts of fall damage to switch out the bow in his hands for Tommy.

Tommy, despite his nervous glances at the lava creeping up before, was not a fan of this plan and made it evident through both expletives and half-hearted kicks. “Let me go, bitch! What the fuck, I’m fucking taller than you are!—”

Ignoring the shouting in favor of sprinting across the bridge under pain of enchanted arrows raining from the skeletons he’d somehow missed guarding the wall, Techno only drops the kid once they’re under the brief shelter of the stone steps leading up to one of the torn down windows of the bastion. He allows them both a second to recuperate, along with letting a little color bleed into the kid’s abnormally pale face. He accepts his apology of a carrot with a frown, but Techno takes it as a win anyway.

They set off again, Techno drawing a finger up to his lips to mimic quiet before pulling himself up onto the broken window. Tommy decides to disregard this the moment he hefts him up next to him, his regular ear-splitting voice only lowered by a decibel or two. “As I was saying, before you fuckin’ rudely interrupted me,” Techno considers shoving one of the few gapples he’d brought with him in the kid’s mouth for the sake of shutting him up, but elects to instead pull out his sword when he sees the fifteen piglins ahead have already perked up at the noise, “you bitch about governments and shit all the time, but what about like, some other system? Like there’s gotta be fucking _something_ , right?”

“Tommy,” he starts, clapping a hand on the kid’s shoulder to pull him back behind the protection of his red cloak as his eyes catch on the piglin’s picking up speed. “The only system I support,”—and he turns around, catching the first golden sword aimed at the back of his crown just in time, spinning the gold sword that drops after the one-hit the mob needed to go down in his hand to knock out another incoming at Tommy’s blind spot—“is getting that bread.”


	2. Hugging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil hugs his son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oop i made it angsty  
> this was a little rushed lol, so no beta but if you do see any spelling or smth mistakes feel free to let me know :D hope yall like it!

Phil hugs his son. 

It’s almost like every other day, before they entered this cursed world that tore them all apart. Wil would clamber down the steps into the kitchen to the sounds of Techno and Tommy’s bickering and Phil would draw him in for a hug before they set off to do the day’s work. 

Later, later. The world is in darkness and then it emerges, a new home. Because home is where the heart is, and his hearts seem to have run here on the invitation of the man they need Phil’s help to fight. Phil wants to call them back, to the place of warmth and familiarity, ekked out through the ions, but his son had staked a claim to this land and did not seem inclined to let go. He manages to offer only once, wide-spread arms and a smile falling from his face as his son brushed past him to a row of maps spread over the cavern floor and covered in red marks. Phil doesn’t ask again, consoling himself with giving the boy—no, young man now, a gentle embrace whenever his brilliant mind tires out with the plans and plan and plans and falls asleep wherever he was sitting the moment the weary weight of this world on his shoulders finally came to its peak. 

Later, later. Phil looks for him. There are celebrations going on, speeches being marked into the very pages of history, but Phil can’t find his son twisting the stories into the beautiful poetry he seemed to have left behind when his pen began etching out presidential decrees instead, and so he looks for him. The look in Wilbur’s eyes as they’d armed themselves haunts Phil’s every waking thought, the eyes that practically flamed with red as they looked out at the city they were marching on—and so he looks.

Phil hugs his son. He’s so glad he found him. He’s so sorry he did. 

It’s been a long time, so Phil makes sure to cherish the half-hearted squeeze around his midriff despite the slowly failing strength. He runs a hand through Wilbur’s messy hair, so reminiscent of his boyhood days had it not been soaked with blood, and draws him closer. 

[“ _Kill me, Phil. Killza, Killza, Phil, kill me!”_

_“You’re my son!”_ And the hard press of a cold sword in his hand— __

_“Do it.”_ ]

Wilbur’s arms fall to his side, slumped over in Phil’s lap as he is. Phil does the work for both of them again, not letting go of his tight grip despite the shouting and mayhem below the wreckage of cobblestone they were sitting on. “You just couldn’t win,” he whispers, watching the self-satisfied smirk on Wilbur’s face fade with his heartbeat. 

Wilbur’s fingers twitch, and Phil wonders if he can still hear him. If he wants to lean up, able-bodied and bright eyed and wrap his arms around his father. But though his imagination may have kept him sane all these centuries, Phil knows what is reality and what is not meant to be—so he just sets his son’s lolling head down on a soft patch of grass, clears the cobblestone from under his corpse, and gets up to join the fighting below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u liked it :D (also if I made any canon mistakes let me know so I can uhhh tag this as AU lol)


	3. Excitement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s so tired, so hungry. So close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heh angst pog  
> also i used a different kinda style than i usually do for tommy, it went alright tho i think. hope u like it! :D

The sky is slowly lightening to the east as Tommy stumbles through the thickets bordering the very edge of the mountain range. He stops for a moment near a tall oak, trying to peer through the darkness of dawn to what seemed to be an opening in the tree line, a bare five hundred meters away as he simultaneously wrestles out a broken arrow from where it’s been caught in his shirt. 

The night had been about as bad as whatever hell could cook up, Tommy can’t help but think as he pants, the cold burning his lungs. The pain isn’t even that bad, compared to the growling in his stomach—three days, he’d been running. Three days of picking up sparse mushrooms and eating them raw, knowing a fire, or anything that would leave a trace he was there could lead him to Tommy. He hadn’t had time to bring anything with him, not that there was much to bring given that the very night before he’d run Dream had blown up his meagre stash of iron armor and weapons once again. 

Now he wishes he’d been less rude that day, for the sake of the little warmth the armor would have given him, the respite from the lightly bleeding cuts on his arms (courtesy of the six skeletons he’d run into just as signs the sun was coming up started lightening the shadows of the forest). Still, the light coming from the opening causes a turning in his stomach that’s unrelated to the hunger. Because light means safety. Light means that Technoblade’s home was near, _refuge_ was so, _so_ close. 

Just five hundred meters to go. 

Tommy summons a will he’s felt robbed of for the past few months and forces his legs to move. Techno would protect him, he knows, and he _could_ protect him, even from Dream. He’s so close. He can make it, he _has_ to. 

Three hundred meters. 

He’s so tired, so hungry. So close. The hope that he’d thought had been smothered starts picking up in his chest again, as he can make out the faint flickers of firelight through the pines. 

Tommy starts walking faster, almost of his own accord. Two hundred meters. He’s excited. How can he not be, with the promise of actual walls and a roof so near? He doesn’t notice the slight rustle to his left. 

One hundred. He’s practically running now. Would Techno be willing to part with a few golden apples? he wonders. Philza’s always talked so well of him, surely he would give Tommy a few if he asked nicely, without any curses or anything. 

His legs hurt really badly. He’d tripped on one of the traps Dream had set around his tent when he was sneaking off and skinned his knee, and while it had stopped bleeding after the first two hours it still stung at the feeling of the cold fresh snow drifting from the sky. The firelight is becoming clearer in his vision, despite the snow.

Zero meters. He steps out past the trees, onto the bank of clean snow covering the valley, heart thudding with anticipation, with the thought of safety. A sword edge stings at his throat and the beating stops.

“Tommy!” And Tommy can practically _hear_ the enormous, excited smile, (always, always) in his head. “I’m so glad I found you, you know I get worried.” The sword edge drops, but Tommy can’t move.

The flutter in his chest has fallen to the ground with the cold snow. Tommy turns around, eyes drinking in a final look at his dashed hopes before he has to recite his apologies. 

The place really did look warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

**Author's Note:**

> ay drop a kudos or comment if you liked it, they mean the world to me! next two prompts will be out this week :D


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